


Mages and Myths

by MagpieWords



Series: AUgust 2020 - Magpiewords [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Comedy, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons References, Gen, Quests, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/MagpieWords
Summary: Clint Barton, ranger working in the name of the crown, does not like bards.(The 2012 team in a dnd setting)
Relationships: Clint Barton & Avengers Team, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Series: AUgust 2020 - Magpiewords [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860265
Kudos: 17
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Mages and Myths

**Author's Note:**

> my first piece for AUgust 2020! So excited about this month long adventure and this fic in particular was so fun to write! I don't often write gen, but when I do it's always so fun.

The fourteenth strum of the off key lute was somehow, impossibly, worse than the thirteenth. “And lo, our heroes travel forth! To battle foes far to the north. And glory be to kingdom Stark, where power comes from the true heart. Friends alike and allies kind, joy in this journey does Might Thor find!” The Thor in question laughed at his own song. He tossed his golden locks back and began to strum again when a gloved hand snatched the instrument away.

“Why did we invite a bard, again? I thought this was a stealth mission?” The ranger stowed the lute in his pack, decidedly ignoring the over theatrical pout coming from their bard.

“Sir Roger! My sole weapon has been stolen!” Thor cried out, voice only just barely avoiding giving the ranger 1d6 psychic damage.

“Sole weapon? You’re kidding me.”

“Give him back his lute, Clint.” Sir Rogers was at the front of the party, making their way around the bend of the mountain pass. He didn’t bother looking back, knowing his order would be followed. Their ranger was unruly, but Sir Rogers had earned his loyalty.

Lute in hand once again, instead of strumming, Thor swung it about. “It doubles as a hammer,” he explained, but Clint had already moved forward in the marching order.

“Steve, I’m serious, why is he here?”

“Bards are healers,” Sir Rogers had yet to turn his eyes from the road ahead.

“We have Banner for that.”

Knight’s armor was anything but light, and colliding face first into it was the exact right way to land 1d4 worth of a concussion. A delicate hand on his shoulder cast Cure Wounds and Clint heard a mumbled, “Don’t make me waste spell slots.”

Sir Rogers turned around from where he had stopped short along the narrow mountain pass. The rest of the party had managed to avoid colliding into each other, and Clint cursed at his low Perception modifier. Then cursed again for having high enough Insight to know his questioning had earned their leader’s irritation.

“Sir Barton, this quest is against the most dangerous sorcerer known to the kingdom. The kingdom that is our sworn duty to protect, on orders from our regent pro tempore that you are sworn to follow. This sorcerer could kill thousands if we don’t get there in time. He is a very powerful magic user. Sir Odinson has Counterspell and will heal us when you cause Dr. Banner to run out of spell slots. Does that answer your query?”

Clint felt out of breath from the oath inspired lecture, nearly feeling the divine energy radiate off of Sir Roger in righteous waves. He managed to gasp out a quiet “yes sir,” before ducking back around Thor and Banner to join their rogue at the back of the party.

“You sure do know how to make friends.” Her dark hood covered most of her face in shadows, but Clint could see the twitch of a smile across her lips. Why she was enjoying any of this would be beyond his guess if he couldn’t feel the bardic inspiration radiating off of her. Of course she’d find a way to profit off this misery. It was her fault he was even on this mission- Clint Barton was rarely loyal, but when he was, he was loyal to a fault. And that fault was usually the whims of one Natasha Romanoff.

“Fuck off,” he muttered and endured yet another round of Thor’s singing in silence.

The Sorcerer’s Tower came into view as they reached the peak of the mountain. It was on a neighboring peak, too steep to have climbed themselves, edges falling away to gnarled trees and rock formations that could only be born in splashes of molten lava. When they had been given this quest, Clint knew it was dangerous, but any spellcaster rumored to ‘kill thousands’ had to have been a myth from eras past. Seeing this, the destruction wrought around their target’s keep, Clint was starting to believe in that myth.

The only way to reach the tower was a surprisingly mundane looking bridge. The rope was frayed slightly from the harsh wind of the mountain, but other than that, there was nothing stopping the party from reaching the tower. Clint squinted, looking beyond the bridge from any traps along the facade of the tower. There wasn’t so much as a turret station amongst the brick, just a singular window, not even covered in any glass. Did the front door even have a lock on it?

“Romanoff, secure the bridge.” Steve gestured forward and the party’s rogue sprung into action. How she found shadows in the unforgiving light of a cloudless day, Clint would never know, but Natasha slunk forward to double her own skeins of rope along the wood of the bridge. She rose up to her full height, arching her posture onto a single foot as she delicately placed the other on the first plank of the bridge. She leaned forward, testing her weight slowly, until she moved onto the plank completely.

“Bridge secured,” she declared. Thor clapped as though seated in the front row of the coliseum and Natasha bowed in the praise, only encouraging Thor’s laughter along with his cheers.

“Are we sure this wasn’t a stealth mission?” Clint asked Steve one last time.

Steve only shrugged. “We’re probably too far away to be heard.”

“Probably?” Clint’s voice ticked up an octave and he felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder again.

“We’re going to be fine,” the cleric said.

“You wouldn’t Bless me if you thought we were going to be fine.” Despite his complaining, he wasn’t saying no to the magical gift.

As Natasha declared, the bridge was secure and steady. The party made their way across with hardly a creak underfoot. Clint steadily ignored the soft murmur of prayers from Bruce, wobbling across at snail’s pace in front of him. The slow voyage over the cavern gave the archer a better view on their approach. No door had revealed itself anywhere along the base of the Sorcerer’s Tower, but that was probably for the best - they couldn’t exactly waltz up the front entrance, no matter how easy this quest seemed.

As they touched down on solid earth again, Bruce sagged against Clint, but he pushed the cleric off towards Thor. “Rude,” was the only acknowledgement he received from Bruce, who seemed just as happy to lean against someone much taller. Clint didn’t have time to play support. He dropped into a crouch and circled the narrow building.

“Report?” Steve asked when Clint came back into view, and a shake of his head was the fastest answer.

“Really?” Natasha tilted her head, looking up at the Tower with no entrance. “Must have been made with magic.”

“Or some stoneworkers with an escape rope,” Thor suggested.

“Given that we’re fighting a sorcerer, probably magic. Anyone know Fly?” At the chorus of no’s, Steve sighed. “Guess we’re climbing.”

As Natasha laced her heavier rope around a metal arrow, a single note sounded out from Thor’s lute, and Clint nearly dropped his bow in his rage. “Now? Are you kidding me? Sir Rogers, forgive me, but this guy is a liability!”

“I was just–” Thor tried, but Clint had heard more than enough on the journey up here.

“We are at the base of the enemy and you, what? Did you think he’d roll out the welcome mat if we sounded the trumpets?”

It’s not as if his shouting would lose them the element of surprise anymore, as surprise was a thing rarely lost in halves. Still, his fury dulled at the crestfallen look Thor gave him. Clint wasn’t used to seeing emotion so clearly written on the face of his companions. Surely no rogue had ever had eyes so big and sad-looking, there was no way he could prepare for this look.

“I have cast Pass Without Trace,” Thor finally said, before tucking his lute over his shoulder for the first time all journey.

“Knots are done,” Natasha said, saving Clint from any poor attempt at apology. Throwing a metal arrow at anyone else would have been a lot more dangerous, but at him, it was just her way of expressing annoyance and Clint couldn’t say he blamed her.

Despite his better judgement, he tried to apologize anyway. “Look, man, it’s not you. I just hate bards.” 

That only served to make Thor look more miserable, so Clint turned his focus to aiming his shot.

The arrow found its home right where Clint wanted, secure between the stones of the tower and out of sight just below the edge of the window. The rope swayed in the breeze and he heard Bruce mutter another few rounds of prayer. He wondered if the cleric’s god had time to listen to all of those.

It was a quick and silent scurry up the tower, Romanoff taking the lead until she disappeared into the shadows of the single room the window opened to. Sir Rogers arrived last, as not even the bardic magic could keep the sound of his platemail quiet when his boots dropped down onto the worn wood floor.

“Oh for the love of,” there was grumbling from behind a curtain in the back of the room. “Jarvis, did you bring another mouse up here? You are a construct, you don’t actually need to–”

The curtain cast a thin layer of dust about the room as it was pushed aside. The sunlight from the window streamed through the particulate, making Steve Rogers’ holy blade look all the more intimidating as it was raised towards the dangerous sorcerer.

This particular dangerous sorcerer was wearing boxer shorts, flip flops, and a simple white undershirt. He would seem less like a mage and more like a commoner, if not for the deep blue cloak he wore, embroidered with constellations. In Clint’s humble, non-magic opinion, he was still a very odd looking mage.

That didn’t mean he lowered his bow, though. Which is what the mage saw first, eyes going wide at the sight of a ranger in his home. A light shone through his shirt, a spell brewing just under the surface, and Clint drew his arrow back further, waiting for Rogers’ command before firing.

Instead, no command came and the light flickered and died in the mage’s chest. Even stranger, he put his hands up.

“No, no please don’t shoot!” His eyes were screwed shut, as though that would block out an archer’s arrow or a paladin’s sword. Still, Clint didn’t release the tension in his bow. It was too impossible to imagine this ‘dangerous sorcerer’ would go down without a fight.

“Give us one reason to spare you, sorcerer,” Steve snarled, but he lowered his raised blade and instead pressed the flat of it against the sorcerer’s chin, tilting it up to face his enemy head on; the only way a knight considered a fight worthwhile. Clint watched the mage’s breath paused in his chest, more than familiar with the rush of fear from cold metal against his neck. He almost felt bad for this guy.

“Wait, sorcerer? You, uh, I think you have the wrong guy.” He cracked on eye open, a piercing amber brown that Clint was beginning to find familiar.

“Sir Rogers, Knight of the Kingdom Stark does not mistake his directions, mage.” Natasha hissed and the possibly-not-sorcerer flinched as she made her presence known from the shadows behind him. Clint had seen men jump out of their skin when she pulled that maneuver before, but this guy must be smart enough not to jump onto a paladin’s knife.

“Kingdom Stark?” Now, with both eyes open, Clint pieced together what was so familiar. It’d been on every other painting throughout the halls of the castle when he met for this quest assignment. The clatter of his bow hitting the floor hardly startled him.

“Prince Anthony?”

“Pick up your bow, Sir Barton,” Steve commanded without looking away from the mage, “And be not fooled by this trickery.”

“Steve,” Bruce whispered, “I’m not sensing any trickery.”

“Nor I,” Thor agreed, taking a step forward. “Lower your weapon and look at him. Even the most skilled illusionists can no longer replicate a face to fool me. This is no illusion.”

The second Steve looked to Thor, squinting as he considered the idea, Clint knew the tension was cut. Steve didn’t look away from a target, so Clint could afford to bend down to pick up his bow. Those with charisma proficiencies could sort this out.

“Sir Odinson, I mean not to doubt you, but I knew Prince Anthony myself. I think I’d remember if he had something like this.” The tip of his sword clicked against the faintly glowing gem embedded into the mage’s chest just under his shirt.

“You knew me?” The not-sorcerer-maybe-Stark hadn’t moved, even as the blade eased from his throat. “I think I’d remember if one of my father’s knights was built like you.”

At that, Steve finally lowered his blade. The flush that crept over his features was something Clint had only seen on the knight’s face when tavern bards picked the wrong target for their Seduction rolls. “I, uh, was much younger back then. Smaller.”

Recognition flashed in those amber eyes. “Steve Rogers like that Stevie Rogers?”

“Oh wow, no one’s called me that in a few years…” 

The probably-missing-prince didn’t seem to hear him. “I mean, it’s a common name, so I wouldn’t assume but– I watched you fight a manticore from my bedroom window!”

“You fought a manticore?” Natasha, who had fully come out of the shadows, looked impressed.

“It was a baby, hardly a threat worth calling the guards for. I honestly didn’t think anyone saw me do that.” Steve went to sheath his sword, but he paused as he snapped himself out of the memory. “Hang on, if you’re the missing heir, why would Lord Obadiah send us to kill you?”

“He what?” And with those two words, any lingering doubts were dashed from Clint’s mind, and likely the rest of the teams. No imposter could sound so betrayed.

“That’s why we’re here. Lord Obadiah told us an incredibly powerful sorcerer lived in this tower and that if we didn’t dispose of him before the equinox, he’d kill thousands with some sort of ritual.”

The oppressive weight that had settled over the small tower room was not lifted by Anthony’s bitter laughter, a sharp sound that seemed to make Thor wince. “Of course. I arrived here on the equinox five years ago.”

“I don’t understand.” Steve had fully sheathed his sword now. Anthony had taken to pacing, so Steve stepped back, sitting at a small table with Thor and Bruce. “Why would he try to kill his own godson?”

“Why do you think, Rogers? If a rightful heir is off the throne for five years, the law of the land states that the crown goes to the next in succession. Bit unnecessary, though, sending a whole party of adventurers.” Another brittle laugh and something in the small room cracked. Clint had his bow pointed at the sound before his eyes even focused on it. An orb of glass, holding some swirling purple liquid, had developed a spiderweb crack along it’s hull, despite nothing else in the room being out of shape.

“Sorry,” Anthony muttered. He flicked a bolt of blue magic at the glass and the damage vanished. “He’s right about one thing, I am powerful. A wizard, though, not a sorcerer. But he didn’t need to have me killed. I’ll never be powerful enough to break out of here.”

Clint gestured to the open window.

“Oh wow, why didn’t I think of that,” the prince sneered. He crossed the tiny room in a few bold strides and placed a hand out the window. Or, rather, he would have, if not met with a ripple of magic. It was the same shimmering blue as the stone embedded in his chest, echoing out from his palm like invisible glass suddenly seen.

Natasha tapped her nails along the edge of a teacup, left with a cold kettle sitting on the small dining table. “Five years is a long time to be alone, Anthony.” she whispered and Clint fought down the urge to go to her side.

“Please, call me Tony. I’m not exactly a prince here, am I? And I wasn’t totally alone.” Tony waved his hands and a transparent blue jaybird appeared on his shoulder, the same shimmering hue as the stone and the barrier. “I have my familiar, of course, but he’s just as trapped as I am. My captures– oh, I suppose I finally have a name for them now.” He sighed, and Clint strangely found himself fighting down the same urge twice. “Lord Obadiah left me with a good stock of food, but when days turned to weeks without any outside contact, I got worried. No demands, no word of a ransom posted, nothing. Lucky for me, transmuted food is almost as good as the real stuff. Even without my spell book, I know more than most wizards. Nearly every spell but Dispel Magic, of course.”

“I know that spell,” Thor said, but he wasn’t looking at the prince. His eyes were on Clint. ‘See,’ they seemed to say, ‘I’m useful on this team.’

Tony wasn’t nearly as annoyed by the bardic brag as Clint wanted him to be. He ran forward and the jay started off his shoulders with an upset chirp before fading back into magical ether. He took the bard’s massive hands in his own, whole body trembling as he asked. “You know Dispel Magic?”

“Yes? It is a fairly basic spell.”

The wizard nearly sobbed. “I know! But I never, well, Obie knew I never bothered with abjuration and he didn’t exactly give me a library of spellbooks up here.” He let go of Thor and took a step back, letting his eyes slip closed. His hands glowed as he traced them around the room, runes filling the air with a soft blue light before fading away. “If you cast it a high enough level, it should break the hold this tower has on me! I can be free!”

Thor already had a hand on his lute, but hesitated. He broke his gaze away from the joy painted across Tony’s face - the kind of joy he could probably write sonnets about - and looked to Steve.

Steve had returned his gaze to their target. Clint shivered. Even if the paladin’s oath wasn’t directed at him this time, just being in the same room as that kind of power was overwhelming. “Prince Anthony, heir of Kingdom Stark, if that is who you claim to be, it would be an honor to free you of this prison. However,” Steve took a single step towards Tony, armored boots echoing on the creaky wood floor. “If you are not that which you say, I declare myself bound to your rightful destruction.”

The silence that followed would have been damning, if not for the fact that Tony’s gaze did not break with Steve’s. “I would expect a knight of your caliber to be bound for no less,” he replied, the traces of his noble heritage slipping into his words for the first time since the party had entered the tower.

The tense moment was broken the second Tony looked away. “Gods, is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Clint replied immediately, earning a laugh out of the prince. He had never been one to heed the throne, no more than he heeded whoever paid his fee for service. His loyalty took years to earn, but there was something that almost made him consider speeding up the timeline, hearing that laugh from this noble in particular.

“If Lord Obadiah has truly done something so awful, this is going to be a much bigger quest than we signed up for.” Natasha had made her way to Clint, whispering to him as Thor tuned his lute.

“I think I’m okay with that,” he said, feeling a smile pull at his lips. He didn’t need to turn to know she smiled in kind.

With his lute in hand, Thor filled the tiny room with music. It was a short melody, lilting in the way one would imagine giving tune to the swish of a curtain in a breeze. As the notes rang out, the tower shuddered around them. Clint wouldn’t consider himself a mage. He knew a spell or two, in the same way he was sure that Thor could wield a sword if pressed, a quirk rather than a necessity. Still, even someone like him could sense the magic peeling away from the very foundation of the stones, shaking the mortar between them as if the entire structure was being relaid.

A skilled mage like Tony seemed to understand the depth of that transformation, running immediately to the window. Skilled in magic, he seemed to lack skill in physics as he then jumped out the window.

“Wait!” Clint raced after him, the rest of the party not far behind but made speechless in their horror. Maybe if he was fast enough, he could lasso the wizard before he hit the ground.

Instead of seeing a corpse splattered on the harsh mountain stone, Tony was only a few yards down, lounging causally in mid-air. He offered a wave and that burst forth a laugh from Thor. “Feather Fall! We have a very clever wizard among our party, friends.”

Tony laughed in return. “Oh man, I love bards!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Other fills for the month will vary in a few fandoms, but if you have a request, comment it below and I'll see what I can do to write it!


End file.
